#both are still wet cats though | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

runa-falls · 10 months

Note

FREE USE WITH MIGUEL? LIKE ANYWHERE ANYTIME?

a/n: YES NONNIE, ANY--FUCKING--TIME. AND HERES ONE OF THOSE TIMES :^) idk if this is free-use or feral!reader or both. anyway, just enjoy it lol. like every time, this got away from me

special thanks to mona (@whatthefishh) for letting me scream this shit to her over discord + for helping me figure out exactly what 'free use' is lol

cw: smut (18+), free use kink, small very small bit of somnophilia (CAN'T ESCAPE IT), non-explicit oral (m-receiving), afab!reader, mentions of ovulation (+ period) horniness, fingering, cockwarming, fucking w/ multiple orgasms, the same Spanish pet name used over and over, reader is basically a bothersome cat, writer is so all over the place it's confusing.

wc: 2.4k (this was supposed to be a quick thot but wtvr)

---

miguel is a gracious boyfriend, he practically lives to please you. so when you approach him in the middle of the day with nothing but his shirt draped over your figure, he has a hard time rejecting your advances.

sure, he tries, but every time he gives you what he wants.

you're spoiled, really.

miguel works at home as much as possible. he hates having to leave you before the sun rises, walking away from a perfectly cozy bed and wet cunt (😳).

miguel convinces himself that Spider HQ can survive a day or two without him on site. he has several capable Spiders that do most of the heavy lifting for him and LYLA isn't afraid to take charge, sitting her holographic ass in the boss' chair.

he can set up mission plans and keep track of everything from his laptop, and he's always on call if he is needed for anything. the only issue is that working remotely doesn't work when he can't get anything done.

he's trying to go over notes from a meeting that was held earlier this morning.

he was supposed to be there, but you physically wouldn't let him out of bed. he swears you're a Spider yourself with the strength you have when you're especially needy and sleepy.

he smelled it when he woke up in the middle of the night to you mouthing over his boxers, that decadent sweetness that indicates you're ovulating.

you were desperate to get a taste of him, to fill that unbearable emptiness inside of you, whimpering with relief when you finally feel his fingers bury themselves in your hair to push your further against his bulge.

he learned early in your relationship that your insatiable appetite for him increases tenfold during your window of fertility (don't even mention your period). and so does your need for sleep. so he caters to your needs accordingly.

you passed out after convincing him to fuck the heat out of you, to snuff out the fire until your neediness recedes. apparently, the only time you aren't horny is when you're sleeping (though that isn't true... you wake up horny all the time??).

you've been sleeping soundly ever since, utterly exhausted by his thorough support, but he knows that once you wake up, you'll be crying for him again.

he crawled back into bed with you after telling LYLA to take over for the day, but after a few hours of almost suffocating because of the way you curl up on his chest like a cat, he got up to get some coffee and finish some computer work.

as soon as his warmth left you, you fussed. eyes still closed as you whined and moaned for his body. he shushed you, gently smoothing down your bedhead until you settled.

it didn't last for long.

you padded out of bed with bleary eyes, clearly looking for him when you walked into the living room. he offered you a quick "morning, cariño." before focusing back on his computer. he had to limit as much contact with you as possible if he wanted to finish his work.

just a few more pages and a couple of emails, and then he can give you all the attention you need.

his shirt brushes against your thigh like a summer dress as you make your way through the room.

he looked adorable with his loose white long sleeve on and black dad-glasses. his hair is still curly and fluffed, telling you he wasn't planning on leaving you anytime soon.

you shuffle over to the couch, sitting next to him with a sigh.

he doesn't react.

somehow, the minimal recognition that you're there, his adamant refusal to look at you, turns you on as much as it irritates you.

he's really trying his best to be a good boss, hm? trying to resist a temptation that's barely a foot away from him.

it makes you feel dirty and deprived. you blatantly rub your legs together, urging him to look. your gaze washes over his sharp jawline watching as it clenches at your soft coos.

"...baby."

"'m working, amor." his voice is still soft, despite the efforts he's taking to ignore you.

you huff.

"but--"

"not right now."

you scoot closer to him, strategically allowing the hem of his shirt to ride up on your thighs. so he's really going to make you do it...

you tug at his sleeve, taking his arm away from his work (though it doesn't look like he was working on much at all, he's been sitting on that exact page for 5 minutes now).

"not right now, mi vida..." he protests lightly, but he doesn't move away. he's not even trying, you think.

you smirk at his empty words. you can see the way he's looking at you: your messy hair, bare legs, the shadow of his shirt hiding away your most sensitive spot. his breathing grows heavier and so does his stare.

"i have work--" miguel is always so soft and sweet to you, melting in your hand though he has all the power to stop it.

"please, miguel? just one, for me?" his lips part as you place his hand against your bare thigh, slowly dragging it upwards until it meets your center.

he doesn't take his hand away, doesn't even pull back a single inch, instead, he instantly complies, cupping his warm hand over its entirety. he chokes out a low groan. you're not wearing anything underneath.

"ok, i guess if it's only once..." he whispers, already breathy. he's leaning over you, almost on top of you, forcing your legs to spread impossibly wide.

he watches as his finger rubs against your slick center, spreading your wetness until you're glistening for him under the late morning light. he pushes in slowly, so slowly, eyes flicking up to your face to witness the small o your mouth makes as he presses in deeper.

his mouth waters as he fingers you, he wishes he had enough time to go down on you, and taste your slick straight from the source. he knows how much you love it when he fucks you with his tongue and suckles on your clit. but no, he has work to do. he needs to get you off so he can finally focus.

"this what you needed, cariño?" it's all but growled into your space, his voice low and taunting. all you can do is nod with bleary eyes as your hands grip onto his thick bicep for support.

he adds another finger and thrusts them into you quicker, angling them just so his palm can gently nudge at your clit. he can feel you tightening around him already, fluttering with each pass that he makes against your g spot. he presses harder, drinking in your choked gasp and shaking thighs.

you're so wet, spilling over his fingers and dripping against his hand. the noises between you are deafening. a mixture of sopping thrusts, heavy breathing, and quiet mewls fill the still silence of the living room.

he's so good at this, too good at this.

how can he make you fall apart with just his hands, caress every sensitive nerve with a single stroke?

you're at the cusp of euphoria. your body, filled to the brim with pleasure, urges you to let go, to take what you want. but you don't want to. you want to stay at the edge forever with his hands on you, to be at the center of his affections, always just one breath away from transcendence.

you're not ready for him to stop touching you anytime soon, you realize. you still need it and after you'll need it again. you need him.

his glasses start sliding as he looks down at you, dropping until they're barely at the tip of his nose. he's focused, eyes locked on how he fills you again and again.

his fingers speed up, expertly aiming against that special spot inside of you. your hips rise from the couch, needing him as deep as possible. then it all falls apart.

you cry out, back arching and eyes rolling. your body is barely touching the couch under you and it feels like you're being lifted up by unknown forces as you reach your climax. white fills your vision and heat thrums through your limbs. you can't hide your one orgasm from him, it's too intense.

before you could recover, he slips his fingers out of you.

"alright, honey, we're done." he casually sucks your essence off of his fingers before propping his glasses back to the arch of his nose.

"ok, ok, i get it. you're busy." you pant, still pulsing from your high. and...he's already back to work. he wasn't kidding when he said he had stuff to do. "i'll just...be sitting here."

so you watch him get back to work, or you try to. the incessant scrolling, typing, reading, and muttering thoughts that accompany his work is usually enough to put you to sleep. it's an unusual lullaby that's attached to him. one that brings you the comfort of knowing he's near.

but he's hard.

he seems so relaxed, so content to work, but his erection presses so desperately against his sweats, outlined perfectly by the grey fabric.

so how could you not touch him? he clearly needs your help... and if he doesn't, then you need it.

you want to be good, you do, but when he types so effortlessly like that with the fingers that were just stuffed in your cunt, or when he looks over his dad-glasses to look at something like a hot fucking nerd, you can't help it.

it's been, what, 12 minutes? that's enough work for the day in your opinion.

you start slow, hesitantly, watching to make sure he's not looking at you (though he can clearly see you from his peripheral vision). you stand up on the couch right next to him. you're a bit unstable on the squishy cushions so you use his shoulder for support.

he looks over at you, confused as to why you decided to walk all over the furniture like a toddler.

you carefully maneuver over his arms to settle yourself on his lap. you're a koala around him, holding your torso to his, looping your arms around his neck and sharing your shimmering lustful body heat. he grunts when you scoot even closer to him, your bare pussy pressing entirely against his covered cock.

but he ignores it.

he doesn't say anything, barely even moves, and just continues to work. you pout a bit, but let him. you convince yourself that you're content with just sitting here and enjoying his company (despite the large distraction that pulses against your pussy, pressing so sweetly under your needy clit).

you listen to his steady heartbeat and slow breaths, the occasional sound of tapping keys. you nuzzle against the soft shirt that stretches over his chest. you're fine.

it's not like you're leaking all over his sweatpants, leaving a puddle at the apex of the fabric. you're not crying on the inside, so empty and fluttering around nothing. you're fine.

until you arent.

you lazily lift your hips above his, nearly head-butting his chin in the process. his arms lift to help you get settled, hands resting on your waist, as patient as ever.

you reach below you and he stiffens. he wasn't expecting you to--

your hand buries itself under his sweats, delicate fingers brushing over his erection. he breathes out your name when you squeeze him teasingly before pulling him out.

"what did i say?" he grunts, hand swiftly wrapping around your wrist. the words are lost on your ears as you caress the silky steel in your fist. it pulses at your touch. he needs this.

he says your name once more.

"you're working."

"then why are you trying to fuck me?!"

"i'm only going to sit on it." you give him an innocent look. you slowly lower yourself so your dripping center meets his before sliding your glistening lips over his hardness. "won't move or say a thing, promise!"

"cariño..."

"just wanna warm you, baby." you position him right against your entrance. "is that so wrong?" you lower yourself before he can say anything else.

you take him easily with how wet you are, and he fills you perfectly. he sucks in a breath at the feeling then growls out, "don't move."

well, you do move (is anyone surprised). you move a lot. but he moves too. harsher and more competitive. who the hell fucks competitively?

you moan over him, bouncing on his cock eagerly. his hands hold your waist, guiding your movements just how he likes it: fast and hard. his laptop, somewhere on the other side of the couch, is forgotten and probably long dead by now. so much for working at home.

you've cum at least four times already, but who's keeping count (you're not. you're so fucked out, you have to manually breathe now.)

he won't let up anymore. you asked for it and you're getting it.

"do i gotta fuck you to sleep, hm? is that the only way you'll leave me the fuck alone and let me work?"

you only admit now that you're eyes were definitely bigger than your stomach. you're practically drooling as he takes control once again, snapping his hips from under you, harsh and punishing. as if this is a punishment.

he has to carry you back to bed that afternoon. he couldn't just leave you on the couch, naked and shivering. plus you'd be a distraction with your bruised hips and fucked out cunt.

you murmur adorably in your sleep as your body unconsciously nuzzles further into his arms. he places you lovingly on the bed and you immediately curl up. he sighs, brushing your hair out of your face because he knows how much you hate it when it gets in your eyes or tickles at your nose during the night.

you look so cozy and comfortable. but so alone in this huge bed.

he debates laying down with you, only until you're in a deeper sleep.

maybe just a few minutes?

LYLA had a few choice words when he woke up in the morning....

#anon #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #atsv #2099

13K notes · View notes

sluttywonwoo · 23 days

Text

fuck the neighbors

pairing: jeon wonwoo x f reader

summary: curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back- at least, that's what they say.

warnings: swearing, blood, asshole!wonwoo, mingyu is canonically a whore, light blasphemy, smut (18+ ; mdni)

smut warnings: hard dom!wonwoo, allusions to voyeurism, degradation, oral (f receiving), blood play?!?!? (just a little bit!!!), wap!reader, massive cock!wonwoo, choking, protected sex

word count: 3.3k

reader notes: reader is significantly shorter than ww + described to have long-ish hair

You’ve never felt as small as you do right now. Wonwoo looms over you, smirking. He isn’t even that much taller than you, you just seem to shrink into yourself when you’re around him, which seems to be happening more and more often lately.

“Found you,” he whispers.

“I... wasn’t hiding,” you say, your voice coming out in a squeak.

“You know it isn’t nice to lie,” he chides, taking a step closer to you. You take a step backward in kind, only to be met with the cool concrete wall against your back. “It also isn’t nice to eavesdrop.”

“I didn’t- I wasn’t trying to,” you insist.

Wonwoo tsks. “I don’t believe you. What did I just say about lying?”

“Well, it isn’t nice to be super loud all the time either!” you scoff. “You have neighbors, you know.”

The overhead light flickers. You and Wonwoo both stare at it, the inconsistent hum of electricity filling the silence before the light eventually decides to stay lit. You breathe a sigh of relief. You really needed to stop overlooking sketchy apartments for the sake of the rent, especially if you were going to have to deal with people like... him.

Wonwoo cocks his head to the side. “What are you talking about?”

“What do you mean what am I talking about? Listen, I don’t care who you fuck but if you could be just a little quieter-”

Wonwoo cuts you off with a laugh. “That’s what this is about? That’s why you were snooping outside my apartment? What, were you hoping to catch a glimpse of her leaving or something?”

So you had been right... you’re not sure whether or not you’re happy about that. What you are sure of, though, is that you’re offended that you’re being accused of snooping. You open your mouth to defend yourself but stop short.

“You’re bleeding,” is what you say instead.

Wonwoo touches his lip, thumb brushing across the cut he must not have noticed until you mentioned it. He looks down at his fingers briefly then back up at you.

“Come with me.”

“Wha- huh?”

“You want to know what’s so loud, right? So come on.”

You follow him blindly back down the hall to his apartment, the one right next to yours. You’re doing everything a final girl in a horror movie shouldn’t do, but you’re dying to know what’s been keeping you up at night.

Wonwoo unlocks the door and stands aside to let you in first. With a gulp, you cross the threshold and slip off your shoes. He does the same.

The apartment is quiet, for once. It looks a lot like yours but mirrored. The kitchen is off to the right instead of the left. The half bathroom is on the wall opposite to yours, likely connected via plumbing.

The place is a lot cleaner than you expected too. It’s sparse, typical for a single guy, but still relatively well decorated.

Wonwoo heads straight to the kitchen and turns on the sink. He wets a paper towel and dabs at his bottom lip, wincing as he cleans the wound.

“Why am I here?” you ask when he doesn’t offer an explanation.

He doesn’t answer right away. Granted, the man was still bleeding but he’d dragged you here for a reason and now you were just standing in his kitchen.

Eventually, he disposes of the paper towel, washes his hands, and walks across the living room without saying a word. You know he expects you to follow him but you almost don’t want to. You do follow him, you want to leave as fast as possible, but you consider it.

He opens the door to what you know is a bedroom and points inside. You stare at him blankly.

“What am I looking at?”

“This isn’t my room,” he says.

“What?”

“It’s my roommate’s.”

“You have a roommate?”

“I do. I have a roommate. He’s the one you share a wall with. He’s the one banging a different girl every night. Your issues are with him, not me.”

Now that you were thinking about it, you have seen a slightly taller, beefier man around the building. That must be who Wonwoo’s roommate is. He definitely had the face to pull all the girls Wonwoo was referring to. Not that Wonwoo didn’t-

“So take it up with him.”

You shake your head and purse your lips. “No, that doesn’t explain everything. I’ve heard your voice too. Unless you’re the one he’s banging...” you trail off, letting the implication hang in the air.

“He’s not my type,” Wonwoo says flatly.

“Okay, then what is it?”

“C’mere,” he says, moving along the wall to what you use as a breakfast nook in your apartment.

In his, the space is empty save for a punching bag hanging from the ceiling.

“You box?”

“It’s a hobby.”

“Is that why you were bleeding?”

“Yeah, I just got back from the gym.”

“And that’s what I’ve been hearing?”

“That’s what you’ve been hearing.”

You nod but don’t say anything else, half waiting for an apology that he doesn’t offer. He just leans against the wall with his arms crossed.

“Well, do you think you could practice your hobby before midnight? Or at least try to keep it down when you do?” you huff in annoyance.

He sighs like what you’re asking is the biggest inconvenience he’s ever been posed with but concedes.

“I guess.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ll have to talk to Mingyu about his... hobby, though. Or get noise canceling headphones. That’s what I did.”

“Oh, okay.”

Silence stretches between you again, heightening the tension in the room. You don’t know what to do. Were you supposed to show yourself out now that you had your answers? Wonwoo isn’t giving you any indication that he wants you to leave but he isn't giving any indication that he wants you to stay either.

You don’t have the time or energy to deal with this. You can’t read the man’s mind. No matter how hard he stares at you from across a room. With a definitive breath, you turn on your heel to head for the door just to be stopped by Wonwoo’s voice echoing behind you.

“Are you disappointed?”

You stop but don’t turn around. “What?”

“Are you disappointed that it isn’t me you’ve been hearing?” he clarifies.

Heat rises to your cheeks. “Wh-what do you mean? Why would I be?”

You feel him approach from behind, his shadow closing in on you before he does.

“Because it isn’t my voice you’ve been touching yourself to.”

“What?!” You do turn around this time, whipping around so fast your ponytail almost whacks Wonwoo in the face.

“You don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me when I pass you in the hallway?”

You scoff, breathing a subtle sigh of relief. All he had to go off of was a look but if he had heard you through the wall, if he had that irrefutable evidence, it would definitely be over for you. “If that’s what you think lust looks like, I feel bad for all the girls you have slept with.”

“Resentment and lust have a very long history together,” he whispers.

“You think pretty highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“But I’m right, aren’t I?”

You feign ignorance. “About what?”

“About you.” He measures you up with his gaze, something triumphant flashing behind his eyes. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he presses. “Tell me you’ve never gotten off to the thought of me and I’ll drop it.”

You weigh your options. You could lie. You could save yourself the embarrassment and lie right to his face, although given your track record thus far he’d see right through it. Or, you could tell him the truth. You could admit to wishing you were the one in what you thought had been his bed all this time.

You settle on silence and let him draw his own conclusion. A smirk tugs at one side of Wonwoo’s mouth. So he did think highly of himself.

“I fucking knew it,” he murmurs.

Before you can deny it, he straightens back up and starts walking toward the back of the apartment.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he announces.

You don’t move from where you’re standing, unsure of what he wants you to do. Was he hinting at you to leave? Was it an invitation?

Wonwoo looks back over his shoulder at you. “Are you coming?”

“Hopefully,” you mutter.

“Hm?”

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

The water is already running by the time you slip into the bathroom after Wonwoo. You watch quietly as he undresses, letting the door click shut gently behind you. It occurs to you that you should be taking your clothes off too but you can’t look away.

Wonwoo’s kind enough to snap you out of it. “I didn’t ask you in here just to watch me.”

“You didn’t ask me in here at all,” you point out, “you just expected me to follow you.”

“And you did.”

Damn, he had you there.

With a noise of indignation, you pop the button on your jeans and start to wiggle out of them, unable to bring yourself to look at him again now that you’re also exposed. You can feel his eyes on you, though. It has the same effect his presence always has on you, and you attempt to cover yourself with your hands.

“Shy?” he muses. “Cute.”

“Shut up,” you sputter.

You don’t think you’ve felt this self conscious since college and then he laughs at your response which does nothing to help.

“I can’t call you cute?”

“Not if you’re patronizing me.”

“How do you want me to say it, then?” he asks, sinking down to his knees on the floor in front of you. You stare at him in disbelief. “You want me to say it like this? Want me to tell you how cute, how pretty, I think you are, from down here? How pretty I think this pussy is?” Wonwoo leans forward as he talks, further and further until his hair is tickling your tummy and his lips are moving against your skin. “Spread your legs for me, baby,” he murmurs.

You do, taking hold of the countertop so that you won’t fall as Wonwoo slots himself between your thighs. You take a deep breath to brace yourself for the feeling of his mouth but absolutely nothing could have prepared you for the way he presses a gentle kiss to your pussy before diving in. The softness of the action compared to everything that led up to this moment, compared to the way he was now drowning himself in you, is enough to make your knees threaten to give. Your grip on the counter tightens and you bite down hard on your bottom lip to keep from moaning out loud. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction, though you’re sure he already knows he’s got you right where he wants you.

Wonwoo hitches one of your knees over his shoulder so that he can get even deeper inside of you with his tongue. He drinks you in, breathes you in, douses himself in you like he’s trying to baptize himself in order to atone for his sins.

If this was his apology for all the noise, he’s forgiven ten times over.

You can feel callouses on the palms of his hands as he traces them up your legs and over your ass, pulling you even further into him. The force of his grip causes you to stumble but he catches you before you can fall and helps you to regain your balance.

“I’ve got you,” he assures you, backing you up into the sink. “Here, hop up on the counter.”

“What about the shower?” you ask, suddenly remembering that the water had been running this whole time.

“Oh shit-”

Wonwoo turns around and reaches to turn it off, drying both his hand and his face with a towel that had been hanging on the wall.

“Now, hop up on the counter.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, glancing at all of the skin and hair care products scattered across it.

Wonwoo pushes them out of the way then nods.

“I’m sure. Mingyu won’t care, trust me. He’d be a hypocrite to.”

You sigh but hoist yourself onto the counter anyway, too horny to worry about it any longer. Wonwoo steps in between your legs and lets you wrap them around his waist. He leans down, you think he’s going to kiss you, but he goes for your neck and kisses you there instead.

“Why are you pouting?” he asks, voice muffled and vibrating against your throat.

“Want you to fuck me,” you lie.

It’s not a complete lie, you do want him to fuck you, but it certainly isn’t the full truth either. You’re afraid that if you’re honest with Wonwoo about wanting him to kiss you it’ll turn him off. He’s not about to make love to you, that much is clear, so was kissing off the table? Was that too intimate for a hookup like this? Would he think you wanted something more if you asked?

“I was getting to that,” he insists lowly. “So impatient.”

“You’re the one who ate me out as soon as you got me alone. You haven’t even kissed me yet.”

There. Maybe if you challenged him he’d give you what you wanted.

“Oh, you want me to kiss you, huh?”

He wraps a hand around your neck and pulls you in, finally pressing his lips to yours. Men were so easy.

He tastes like you imbued with unfamiliarity. Blood, you realize when you pull back and see the cut on his lip had reopened. It isn’t much, just enough to make him look vaguely vampiric. You swipe your thumb across his bottom lip and push it into his mouth for him to suck on.

He does, but he has the audacity to pretend not to like it.

“You’re sick,” Wonwoo scoffs.

“And you’re still hard.”

“Two things can be true at the same time.”

He kisses you again before you can get another word in, dropping his free hand between your legs to ensure you're truly unable to talk back.

He uses his fingers to tease you for a moment or two and then he teases you with the head of his cock, pressing it right up against you and making you whimper into his mouth.

“Tell me, what have you been thinking about all these months,” he murmurs, “when you’re in your bed all alone listening through the wall?”

“I- it’s embarrassing...” you protest.

Wonwoo draws back, tonguing his cheek as he gazes down at you. “Tell me or we’re done here.”

You’re not sure whether or not he’ll make good on his threat but you don’t want to call his bluff and risk blowing your chance to actually live out the fantasies you were too embarrassed to share.

“I thought about... this,” you say hesitantly.

“This? You thought about me fucking you here?”

“No...”

“You’re going to have to be more specific then, angel.”

“It was, um, in your bed.”

“You mean Mingyu’s bed.”

“I didn’t know that at the time,” you whine.

He smiles. “I know. You know, if you had just paid a little closer attention you would have realized he sounds nothing like me.”

“I was a little distracted at the time,” you whisper.

“Yeah? Distracted pretending it was you in those girls’ positions?”

You nod reluctantly.

“Poor baby,” he pouts, “must’ve been so jealous but so wet you just had to touch yourself, huh?”

You hate that he’s right. You hate that the condescension turns you on even more.

While he’s talking, Wonwoo snakes an arm behind you and grabs a condom from a jar on the counter. Did he and Mingyu just keep them out for guests like they were cotton swabs or something? Did they get laid that often?

He tears the foil packet open with his teeth and rolls the condom on as you watch and unconsciously spread your legs even wider for him.

“Ready?” he asks, holding your face with both hands.

It’s probably the first earnest interaction you’ve had with him. His eyes search yours for any sign of hesitation and even when he finds none, he waits for you to answer.

“Go ahead.”

You keep your eyes trained on his face as he guides himself inside of you, watching the way his eyelashes flutter and his breath hitches when he feels the heat of you around him. He pushes himself in slowly but the stretch still knocks the wind out of you, leaving you gasping for air.

“Breathe, baby, breathe. You’re okay.”

You can hardly hear him over the roaring in your ears but you do your best to listen, chest heaving as you desperately try to anchor yourself to him.

Wonwoo doesn’t move until you urge him to by wrapping your legs around his waist and squeezing his hips with your thighs. It isn’t easy at first, despite how wet you are for him. He’s that huge.

You almost wish he wasn’t just because you don’t think it’s fair for any man’s ego to be warranted, especially one as big as his. Though you suppose it’s fitting.

After a few rough strokes, he starts to play with your clit again to get you to relax a little. It works, your eyes roll and your head falls back against the mirror as the tension eases from your muscles.

“Does it feel as good as you thought it would?” he presses.

“B-better,” you admit.

“That’s because it wasn’t me you were hearing.”

You groan, annoyed that he still hasn’t let it go. You doubt he ever will.

“It’s okay. I’ve thought about this too,” he confesses.

“You have?”

“Have you seen yourself?” he scoffs, “Don’t sound so surprised. I’d s-see you in the hallways, see the way you’d glare at me- fuck... who knew all this time you were right next door fantasizing about me while I fantasized about you. We could’ve been doing this so much sooner.”

You want to tell him that you have all the time in the world to make up for it now but you can’t find the words. They’ve dissolved on your tongue and left you with only his name to repeat over and over like you’re in a trance.

“Louder,” he pleads as fucks you even faster.

“But our neighbors-”

“Fuck them,” he spits. “They already hate us because of Mingyu, let them know my name too.”

Apparently you aren’t the only jealous one between the two of you. You want to laugh but you physically can’t, too caught up in the incandescent feeling in your stomach that threatens to engulf you entirely.

“Fuck, are you about to cum?” Wonwoo gasps, lips parting in concentration.

You nod. “Just a little more,” you beg, “yeah, exactly like that... oh fuck-”

“I’ve got you,” he assures you. “Let go, I’m right there with you.”

It’s surprisingly sweet of him and you think he might realize it too because he grabs your jaw and pulls you in to kiss you as you fall apart together so that he can’t say anything else.

Once you come down, he’s the first to start putting you both back together.

“Wanna actually take a shower now?” he asks, holding out a hand to help you down from the counter.

Your knees wobble on your landing but Wonwoo’s quick to wrap an arm around your shoulders wounded-soldier style and sit you on the closed lid of the toilet.

“Take your time,” he tells you, kneeling on the tile in front of you.

“Thank you.”

“Do you want to stay the night? I mean you can hardly walk. There’s no way you’ll make it all the way home.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “All the way next door?”

“Exactly! It’s better not to risk it, right?”

You chuckle. “I guess.”

Wonwoo grins. “Don’t worry, I’ll take you home myself in the morning. I’m a gentleman, after all. And then we can piss off your neighbors.”

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

#fuck the neighbors #seventeen smut #svt smut #wonwoo smut #seventeen x reader #seventeen x female reader #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x female reader #jeon wonwoo smut #svt x reader #jeon wonwoo x reader #flashing tw

2K notes · View notes

adoreddestiny · 2 months

Text

ೃ⁀➷ WEARING HIS CLOTHING — rafayel, zayne, xavier x gn!reader

“c’mere it’s starting to rain harder,” rafayel says, huffing as he closes the door behind you. the scent of wind and rain stains your clothing as you look around his studio. he sighs, running a hand through his wet hair. his fingers soak up the raindrops before he turns to you.

though he stumbles a bit as he spots the white shirt you're wearing growing more and more sheer from the rainy weather. rafayel feels the tips of his ears and his cheeks burn before he tears his gaze away from you. "you're probably getting cold in that," he spits out, "wait here. i'll get you a change of clothes in the meantime."

you barely have time to reject his offer before he darts towards his room. he returns hastily with new shirt and a beige and red cardigan of his. any chance of your denial is shot down with his arms crossed over his chest. "just change into it," he mutters, still avoiding your gaze.

you shrug, stepping into his bathroom to slip out of your soaked shirt. the shirt fits decently but the cardigan is much larger than you realize. the sleeves cover your hands and feel like flaps. but it smells like the bothersome painter you've grown fond of.

stepping out of the bathroom, you find rafayel sitting in front of the fireplace. it seems he's changed as well but it's difficult to tell from the large blanket he's enveloped himself in. but he pauses, looking you up and down.

"what?" you laugh, "cat got your tongue?" his cheeks burn once more but he scoffs, pulling you down into his lap under the blanket. "don't you dare say that devilish name in my home," he mutters, burying his face into the crook of your neck. you smell like him now and there's a tenderness he finds himself embracing when his hold on you tightens.

“i’m home,” zayne calls out, shuffling out of his shoes. he pauses, expecting you to come rushing out from somewhere to greet him. but when nothing arrives, he feels his chest tighten. perhaps it’s a little silly to have been looking forward to your welcoming smile.

he finds himself looking around your apartment in all of your usual spots. but he doesn’t need to look too hard when he finds you in your room. you’re curled up atop a layer of laundry in deep sleep. it’s warm to the touch and the scent of linen is fresh in the air.

zayne feels the edges of his lips tug when he spots you wrapped up in a large coat he’d worn on a date with you last week. it engulfs you as you snuggle deeper into its depths.

he reaches out for you, pulling back your hair and cupping your cheek. there’s something both ravenous and adoring in his gaze as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. perhaps he’ll let you wear his clothing next time you need a little nap.

your name escapes his lips for a moment and your eyes flutter open. “z-zayne..!” you stutter out, sitting up quickly, “i didn’t realize you’d be back this early.”

“i am back on time,” he murmurs, bending down on a knee to meet your height on the bed. “i believe you are the one that lost track of time. doing the laundry, i see. did that coat give you a hard time?” the look on your face warms his heart as his arms reach under the coat to wrap around you.

"you're cold, aren't you?" xavier murmurs. a silvery autumnal breeze whirls past the two of you and another curious shiver curls down your back. xavier chuckles fondly, hand still enveloped in yours. it's likely the only thing providing you warmth save for the thin jacket you thought would do its job more properly.

"i'll be fine," you said quickly, "the apartment's just another block." your words don't exactly convince xavier. he pauses, dragging your hand back a bit to pull you into his chest. "i don't really have a use for my jacket right now anyways. how about you take it for now?" he says with a smile.

you avoid his gaze, unwilling to admit he might have been right earlier about the chilly weather. but you don't reject his offer when he slides his jacket off and wraps it around your shoulders. "there," he chuckles, "feel a little better?" you decide not to indulge a reply.

back at the apartment, you immediately float to the heater. xavier's sweater is still lovingly draped over your shoulders. his warmth remains despite everything. from the kitchen, xavier watches you wrap the sweater even tighter around you. it suits you.

a lingering smile tugs at his lips before you slide back over to him. "you can have it back now. i can grab one of my thicker jackets now," you say, though not exactly stripping it off yet. he shakes his head, tugging the sleeve slightly to pull you closer to him.

"i prefer if you keep it for now," he says with a gentle expression, "i had heard from someone that offering someone your jacket was a pleasant sign of affection." he pauses, admiring the way you're bundled tightly in his clothing. "i just wasn't sure how to bring it up..." then, he smiles knowingly. "i figured a nice walk out give me an idea."

#ੈ♡˳ aurora's writing #love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #xavier love and deepspace #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #rafayel x you #rafayel fluff #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x y/n #love and deepspace zayne #zayne x mc #zayne fluff #love and deepspace xavier #xavier fluff #xavier x mc

1K notes · View notes

sp0o0kylights · 8 months

Text

Bullshit.

The word rings obnoxiously in Steve’s ears as he pushes his way out back, not wanting to be anymore of a talking piece at this party than he already was.

He’d just wanted Nancy to stop drinking, take a second, pace herself…

Steve swipes furiously at his eyes, and then curses when it nearly causes him to run into Chrissy Cunnginham, who’s perched in a chair tucked away from the patio door.

“Sorry, sorry.” He apologizes, trying not to sound like he’s upset, trying to keep his cool--only for her to look up and away, brushing off her own tears.

“Oh.” Steve says, a little laugh bubbling out of him. “You too huh?”

Thankfully she correctly interprets that he's not laughing at her, and adds her own giggle to the mix, the sound gentle even if pitched in upset.

"Boy problems?" Steve asks her, sinking down to the vacant chair on Chrissy's right.

She nods, clasping her hands together in her lap.

"Girl problems?" She asks back, and he grimaces a smile.

They sit for a minute, Steve pulling out a cigarette and offering it to her before lighting up. Chrissy shakes her head, and though her nose curls a little at the smoke she doesn’t say anything.

Neither of them do, staring at the few people bringing the party outside in the way only drunk teenagers can.

"Can I tell you something?" Chrissy says finally, as Steve continues to struggle to keep himself breathing evenly (and not spiraling. He still has to go back and try and escort Nancy home, and he needs to keep his temper when he does it.)

She licks her lips. "I keep trying to break up with Jason, but he won't let me."

It takes a second for the words to register, but when they do he leans himself towards chrissy in concern. “What do you mean, he won’t let you?”

“He’s not--it’s not…”She trails off, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. “He talks me out of it is all.”

She’s downplaying it, and Steve’s concern grows tenfold. “Does he argue with you or just…tells you no or something?”

"It's complicated." Chrissy says, refusing to look at him. "He has this vision for me, for us."

Steve watches as she worries at a hangnail.

Feels the need to reach out and take her hand, but keeps his own hands to himself.

If Steve has learned anything, it's that not everyone wants to be touched as much as he does.

"He keeps telling me I'm just being anxious. That I should trust him, and I do, he just expects me to always do what he says? And more and more lately I--"

She huddles down into the little cat costume she's wearing, pulling the thin black sweater around her. "I want different things than he does."

Steve wonders vaguely if Nancy wants different things.

Or a different person entirely.

"That's not fair to you." Steve says, leaning forward and lowering his own voice. "He can't keep you in a relationship you don't want to be in."

A hard thing for him to say, after the bathroom conversation but this is different.

‘Please, let this be different.’ He thinks, before pushing the thought aside.

"He can't force you to do what he wants just because he wants it, or thinks its best. He should be listening to you and what you want too. Relationships are about…compromise right?” It’s what he’s heard anyway, though most of the time “compromise” means “letting the other person get what they want.”

Which is what he thought he’d been doing for Nancy all this time.

“I can help you if you want. Be your," Steve poorly mimes waving a pom pom. "cheer support."

Chrissy looks at him, eyes still wet. "You would?"

"Of course.” He says, before scooting just a smidgen closer. “Might have to ask you to return the favor though. Nancy said some things tonight and I could really use a second--”

A loud curse makes them both startle, interrupting Steve.

Together, they look around before another noise, like bark being scraped, draws both their attention to the large oak that stands in the backyard.”

"Is…is that Eddie Munson?" Chrissy asks.

"I think so."

Chrissy squints a little, as if not quite believing what she's seeing. "Is…he stuck in a tree?"

Steve finds himself staring in his own disbelief, hands moving to his hips as he watches Munsons wriggling, cursing form.

"I think so." He repeats with a shake of his head.

Eddie's foot slips off a branch, once, twice.

"Hey--" Steve calls out in warning, but unfortunately it comes too late.

The branch under his foot gives away with a startling crack! as another branch shreds Munson's jacket as his full weight caches on it.

"Oh!" Chrissy gasps, hand flying to her mouth as Eddie falls right onto his ass with a yelp.

"You good man?" Steve asks, rising from his chair, hesitant to go over but needing to make sure the idiot hasn't cracked his skull open.

Chrissy has no such qualms, popping up to run over to Munson.

"You're bleeding." She tells him worriedly, dropping to her knees to get a better look.

"Well shit." Munson says with a wonky grin. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Chrissy asks, as Steve’s newly honed babysitting instincts kick in and drive him to get up and look at Munson’s injury himself.

Chrissy carefully strokes the older teen’s hair out of his face, as Steve bends down to check his head and neck.

"You hurt anywhere?" He asks, spotting the scratch that had Chrissy worried.

It’s on his forehead--the guy must have knocked his face against the tree when he fell. Head injuries always bleed a ton but this one's well contained to a small scrape.

Probably not a concern, though Steve looks at his pupils anyways.

"Nah, I’m pine. I didn't mean to drop in on you guys.” He waves a hand behind him before dropping his voice to a dramatic whisper. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that tree, it was pretty shady.”

Steve, long trained by Dustin, narrows his eyes. "Are you making puns right now?"

"Maybe?" Munson hedges, looking delighted to have been called out.

“Uh huh.” Steve puts his hands back on his hips, straightening up from where he’d crouched down. “Your head okay? You remember your name and shit?”

“Edward Edwardian Munson, present and ready for duty!” He gives a mock salute, before dropping Chrissy a wink. “If the duty is drinking and playing games that is.”

“Your middle name cannot be Edwardian.” Chrissy laughs.

"It is!" He defends, at the same time Steve says,

“It's not "

“Oh?” Munson challenges, as if this entire situation isn’t ridiculous. “Then what is my middle name, Sir Steven?”

“No idea, but I know it’s not that.”

Munson blows a raspberry at him. “Well then, maybe you should mind your own beeswax."

"Like you were doing? Up in the tree right above us?" Steve banters back.

The playful look dies a little, Munson beginning the painful process of standing after one falls.

"For the record, I absolutely was not eavesdropping, you guys just happened to be under the tree I climbed and I was there first. " He says it rapidly, like he's used to being accused of such things, and is heading off as many problems as he can.

Steve just ignores it, opting instead to hold his hands out. One to Chrissy and one to Eddie.

Watches surprise cross the older teens face, even as he waits for Chrissy to get up before accepting Steve's hand.

"Why were you up a tree? The family dog run you up there?" Steve grunts as he pulls the metalhead up.

"Funny." Munson quipped sarcastically. "But no. I was up there for reasons."

'Reasons.' Steve mouths, and has to fight himself to keep from grinning.

"Even though I was there first, I did happen to hear some things." He looks at Chrissy, voice turning serious. "If you need any help getting things through Carver's thick skull I'd love to lend a hand."

"You would cheer for me too?"

"Oh absolutely. I'd make a far better cheerleader than Harrington here." He shoots a grin towards Steve to take the edge off the words, before doing a far more enthusiastic mimicry of the cheerleaders pom pom routine.

"But I know how much Carver hates the word no. If you break up with him and he gives you shit after, I'm happy to step in."

Steve hadn't actually thought about that yet, but given what he knew of Jason it makes sense.

He could easily see Chrissy worrying about Jason harassing her after the break up.

"Thank you. Both of you." She sniffs. "Eddie, are you sure you're okay?"

"Right as rain!" Munson gives a rather theatrical thumbs up. "I'll let you in on a family secret, we Munson's have rubber bones."

She gives him another giggle for his efforts, and even Steve can’t fully cover his

Munson, the ass, notices.

“Well call me the court jester, I got both the King and Queen to smile!” He cheers.

Steve rolls his eyes, but doesn't deny it.

"Chrissy!?" Someone barks, loud in the otherwise quiet backyard.

"Speak of the devil." Eddie drops his voice dramatically as Jason strides out of the house.

"I've been looking for you." He chides, two of his friends following close behind.

They're younger members of the basketball team, ones Steve's brain sluggishly attempts to remember.

"Are your knees dirty?" Jason asks Chrissy, disgust tinting his voice as he slowly looks from her to Munson next to her.

His eyes narrow, expression almost offronted.

"You heathen." Jason snarls, stepping forward with a fist clenched.

It was a move right of the sitcoms Steve swore he didn't watch, and it looked just as cheesy in real life as it did on screen.

"Calm down." Steve speaks up, hands going to his hips.

Jason's head jerks as he registers him, so focused on Munson that Steve slipped his notice entirely.

"Harrington?" He asks, as if Steve could be mistaken for anyone else here.

Steve gives him jazz hands in return.

"What are you doing out here?" Jason speaks only to Steve, whole body angling towards him like he's the only person who matters.

It's something Steve's dad does, if there's a businessman he considers to be an equal in the room. Zoning in on them, so he can subtly work in ways to make them feel inferior.

It's narcissism at its core (or so says his mother, when she's blitzed out on too many glasses of wine.)

"Talking to people." Steve deadpans. "If you're looking for beer, you walked past it."

Jason entire face pinches, like he just stepped in dog shit. "No one just talks to Munson."

It's a stupid thing to say, and whatever Hason was trying to imply with it wasn't appreciated.

"Well mark me as the first." Steve's hip cocks, voice frosting over.

Surprise washes across Munson's face, though he remains silent as Steve deals with Jason.

Probably a smart move, given how Jason seems to be eager for a fight.

"Whatever it is you're doing, you can leave Chrissy out of it." He says, and god his voice even sounds like Steve's dad.

"Chrissy," Steve says, with an eyebrow raise he knows looks judgemental, "can speak for herself."

He turns to face her, inviting her to the conversation, in the same way he'd always wished someone would invite his mother to speak against his father.

Watches as the cheerleader bites her lip, trying hard to hide the tears that have sprung to her eyes--but proves that she's stronger than Steve's mother ever was.

She steps forward, taking the opportunity offered to her with a steadying breath. "Jason--"

"You can explain it to me later." Her boyfriend waves her off, like she was a waitress offering water and not his partner.

Uncaring entirely that she's clearly upset.

That she wants to talk.

Munson has come to stand on Chrissy's other side, gone still in a way Steve's never seen him do.

It's downright weird for a guy who's normally always moving, and Steve knows it's defensive.

He's feeling a little defensive himself right now, though he doesn't want to particularly untangle why.

"Jason, listen to me." Chrissy tries again.

In his preffery vision, Steve spots a flash of familiar color. Turns his head automatically, seeking it out--and sees Jonathan hustling Nancy across the room.

The younger man is trying to balance Nancy while opening the front door, and for a second Steve almost beelines for them, except--

Except.

Nancy's whole body moves in what Steve intimately knows is an exhale, leaning her head in the crook of Jonathan's shoulder.

One arm wraps around his waist, as Jonathan finally gets the door open, and Steve watches with a stunned sort of horror as his girlfriend presses a kiss to Jonathan's shoulder.

It's fine.

He's fine.

Nancy was just--drunk. Seeking comfort. She didn't know what she was doing. She didn't mean it like that, she didn't--

"Oh shit Harrington." Jason drawls, a lazy sort of taunt. "I think Byers just stole your girlfriend."

Steve's head snaps back to him, the emotions he was attempting to box up flying to the front of his brain like dogs who slipped their leash.

"Never thought a priss like Nancy would be easy like that, but then, you never were the kind of guy to inspire loyalty." Jason continues, clearly ignoring his own girlfriend and all Steve can see is red.

Munson sucks air between his teeth next to him, nervously eyeing Steve while Chrissy's eyes have gone wide with shock and growing anger.

"Jason!" She admonishes, but he's not even looking towards her.

That too sharp smile is all for Steve.

He thinks of Nancy, the way she'd been so angry with him but so gentle with Jonathan.

He thinks of the monster he faced down in the Byers house, the terror that had shrank down to that same adrenaline soaked focus he had on the basketball court.

He thinks of this asshole Junior in front of him.

Making Chrissy cry just because she'd been kind enough to try to help Eddie, and accept Eddie's kindness in return when the weirdo tried to help her and Steve both.

Steve taps his foot, then switches his stance.

'Plant your feet.' Hargroves voice snarls in his memory and Steve wouldn't be surprised if the asshole abandons the keg long enough to come watch this.

Have his turn at heckling, just because he can.

Steve plants his feet anyway.

"You know what Carver?" He says, hands dropping from his hips.

Jason's face curves into a smile. "What?" He says, tone smarmy.

"You're full of shit."

Hand cocking back of its own accord, Steve puts every bit of himself into his punch.

Feels it reverberate up his arm as his knuckles connect to Jason's cheek.

It's going to hurt later, but right now all he can do is stand over Jason as the asshole's head snaps sideways, legs staggering him backwards until he's falling into his friends.

Chrissy gasps, Jason's boys chanting variations of 'Oh shit!'

Steve just glares him down.

The junior wipes his bloodied mouth, letting his friends push him up before shrugging them off.

"You're going to regret that." Jason snarls, and Steve squares up a second time, expecting to be rushed, when the sharp snickt! of a switchblade freezes them both.

"I think we're done here." Munson says, knife in hand.

The blade he holds is stained a deep, russet red. Crusty flakes fall off it, drifting gently down to the patio floor.

Jason's eyes boggle at it for a moment before he stands up straight.

"Now it makes sense. You're weak, Harrington, letting the Freak get his claws into you." Jason spits bloodstained saliva down at Eddie's feet. "No wonder Coach wants Billy as co-captain!"

Steve just scoffs.

"Chrissy!" Carver barks, making the poor girl jump. "Come here, we're leaving!"

Trembling, but stepping closer to Steve, she shakes her head.

"Chrissy." Jason orders again, and has the audacity to point to his feet, like a man commanding his dog.

"No." Chrissy says it quietly at first, voice a little shaky, before she seems to realize it.

She stands taller, repeats herself in a stronger voice. "No, Jason. We're done."

Jason stares at her, hard. "Chrissy, your mother told me to bring you home. So I'm going to take you home and get you away from this--demon and his lackey!"

It doesn't sound loving.

It sounds like a threat.

He steps forward, hand out to grab her arm and Steve tenses, shifting to step in front of Chrissy.

Eddie beats him there.

The word demon seems to awaken something in him, because his face is now grinning theatrically, voice dipping low in pitch.

"You heard her, Carver. She said no, and even I respect a lady's wish. So run along now," he walks two fingers in the air, from the hand not waving the knife around. "before I decide to make you and her both one of mine, just as I did Harrington!"

Jason actually crosses himself, before making one last attempt for Chrissy.

"That monster is dangerous. if you don't come with me, I'll have to alert your parents." He locks eyes with her. "For the good of your soul."

Steve snorts at that crock of shit, but Eddie lunges forward, slashing the knife in the air.

It's nowhere near Jason, but the guy leaps a foot back anyway.

"Begone!" Eddie booms, and that's all it takes for Jason and his cronies to huff and puff and stride away.

He keeps his arms in the air for a few beats more, before dropping them when it's clear Jason won't be back.

"So I'm yours, huh?" Steve drawls, as Eddie finally puts his hands down and turns to face them.

The guys scary face drops into something almost excited, and Steve can practically see the adrenaline crackling through him.

"Hey it worked. Carver's a religious nut, he goes running anytime you even hint at Satan." Eddie shrugs, grinning wildly. "Put on a little show and poof! Him and his flying monkeys melt away!"

He mimes melting and Steve stares at him for it, until he hears Chrissy laughing next to him.

Eddie grins at her and Steve is hit with the realization that it was for her benefit. To make her feel better about her psycho ex.

Something fond and familiar winds through his chest as the other boy bows.

He refuses to put a name to it.

"Did you paint your knife?" He asks instead, rubbing the hand he hit Jason with.

"What?" Eddie asks, startled out of his court jester act.

Steve nods to his hand holding the switchblade. "That's not blood, it's way too red."

"Ah." Eddie turns the grin back on, and this time it's for Steve. "Yeah, it's uh. Modeling paint. Not like Carver would know the difference."

Unspoken was the fact that he hadn't thought Steve would.

Prior to last year, he'd have been right.

Drunken cheering erupts into wild yells inside, breaking whatever spell the three of them were under.

Hargrove's voice is the loudest among them, and the dude is definitely wasted.

Steve has a feeling Hargrove also knows the difference between paint and blood, rendering Munson's knife trick useless if the dick tried to start something.

"Do you want a ride home, Chrissy?" He asks quietly.

"If it's not a bother." She says, wiping tears shed refused to let fall from her eyes.

Chrissy Cunningham was a lot stronger than people gave her credit for.

"Come on, Munson, I think it's time we all make our exit." Steve says, finding himself weirdly unwilling to leave the older teen behind.

Eddie could hold his own, but given how badly things were playing out Steve figured it was best if they all just called it a day.

"Yeah lemme just…" Munson puts his blade away, fumbling at his pockets for a moment before turning and snatching up a metal lunchbox.

"There! After you, my liege." He says, before opening the lunchbox to make it talk.

"My lady." He makes it say, pitching his voice high.

Chrissy breaks into giggles again and Steve rolls his eyes, but he claps his good hand on Eddie's shoulder as he walks past.

Eddie smiles at him, this one a bit softer than the others, eyes sparkling and Steve chooses not to read into that either.

The three of them walk together, Eddie splitting off to his van after Chrissy thanks him.

Part Two

#borked my computer trying to update the graphics card #have a thing #steven harrington #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #this is part of an almost finished one shot #eventual #steve/eddie/chrissy #eddie is a dork #100% this oneshot focuses on how dorky his ass is #well that and putting two jocks back together after bad relationships and monster's details both their lives #i called it patchworks because its written to ne weaved through the shows plot and is mostly compliant until vecna #hurt/comfort #breakup

2K notes · View notes

ipseitydelrey · 5 months

Note

Sei!! I'm obsessed with your writing!

Since your requests are open... I was thinking maybe.... NSFW alphabet with Reid? 👀

aaaa thank you so much !!

nsfw alphabet ☆ spencer reid

ship spencer reid x afab!reader

warnings smut, use of protection (wrap it before you tap it, kiddos!!), p in v penetration (i feel like this goes w/o saying), oral (m and f receiving), hair pulling, mutual masturbation, wet dreams, teasing, sex toys, he’s self-conscious :(, slight mention of what cat adams did (only implied), also he’s bi <3

A = aftercare (what are they like after sex?)

it’s quite possible that spencer loves aftercare more than actual sex. he’s so enthusiastic about taking care of you; he’ll get food and water, run a bath, cuddle, etc.

B = body part (their favourite body part of theirs and of yours)

although he’s pretty self-critical about his looks, he does like his hair. his hairstyle changes frequently so he always appreciates it when you compliment him or you run your fingers through his hair.

spencer probably feels awful that this is his favourite part of your body, but he loves your boobs. no matter the size or shape, he lives resting his head on your chest like it’s a pillow.

C = cum (anything to do with cum)

either in you or in a condom. he doesn’t really like it when it gets everywhere. although, if he does end up cumming anywhere else (like on your stomach or face, etc.), he will definitely try to clean it up quickly.

D = dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

it’s not too much of a secret but it still sort of counts: spencer has wet dreams about you. since you also sleep in the same bed, during those dreams, he would subconsciously rut against your leg and moan in his sleep. so far (at least to your knowledge), this has only happened once because you woke up to him doing it. you both are aware of this fact, but spencer isn’t aware that you know. you haven’t told him because you don’t wanna embarrass the poor guy.

E = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

with women, very little; not even sex or second base, at most he has made out and gotten his shirt off but that’s it (we’re not including cat adams in this discussion of course). with men though? he’s not a virgin, so he does have some experience.

although if we’re counting what he knows through books and articles, then in theory he would be amazing in bed.

F = favourite position (this goes without saying)

if he’s on top, he loves missionary. the position gives him the opportunity to kiss you while he thrusts into you; he loves the romance and intimacy of it too.

if he’s bottoming, then he likes it when you ride him, especially if you’re facing towards him. he can still kiss you — giving him his much needed intimacy — and he loves to watch the way your chest heaves as you bounce on him. fondling your boobs is an added bonus! another position he loves is when you fuck him with your tits. that one doesn’t need an explanation.

G = goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)

he thinks he’s serious (he’s trying soooo hard, he wants it to be perfect) but he’s unintentionally goofy. usually during sex, he shares little tidbits about the benefits of an orgasm, or how eating pineapple can make cum taste like the fruit…and it’s hilarious. it doesn’t really bring you out of the moment, just makes you laugh.

H = hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

spencer has a mouth-watering happy trail. much like up north, down south it’s unruly, but can still be classified as well-groomed.

I = intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect...)

not much can be said, but expect tons of “i love you”s as he cums. he’s a romantic at heart, of course he wants some romance during sex.

J = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

he doesn’t masturbate a lot, maybe once or twice per two weeks at most; that’s if he’s not with you. in your presence is a whole other story. it was a bit awkward jerking off in front of you at first, but over time he’s come to love it (ngl kinda wanna write a drabble for this one).

K = kink (one or more of their kinks)

why do you think he keeps his hair long? it’s just begging to be pulled! seriously, during a makeout session, you got a little curious and your hand trailed to the back of his head and you gave his hair a lil tug. the result? an involuntary moan. and as mentioned before, mutual masturbation is on the table.

L = location (favourite places to have sex)

he believes any sort of sexual intimacy should be confined to the bedroom. he values his privacy and he doesn’t want to risk getting caught in the middle of having sex by anybody.

M = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

you being smart, especially when you teach him something new (which doesn’t happen often but when it does, he’s so turned on). that’s pretty much it. genuinely loves it when you correct someone else, or if you work with him in the BAU, when you realize something about a particularly hard case that causes a breakthrough.

N = nope (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

doesn’t want to hurt you in anyway shape or form. it’s likely that later in your relationship, when you trust each other more, you both might experiment with biting or spanking, but that’s as far as he’s willing to go. sensory deprivation (especially with blindfolds) are also a no.

O = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he’s so different, yet so similar when both giving and receiving oral; he doesn’t have a preference.

if he’s giving, then he’s giving. at first, he wasn’t too good at it (you had to keep giving him pointers and tell him what you like and don’t like, but he has the basics down), but over time, he does get the hang of it. in short, his tongue has other uses than just rambling about statistics.

if he’s receiving, it is the hottest thing you have seen and heard. he gets so flushed in the cheeks and so sweaty, his hair starts to stick to his forehead as he’s panting. and the noises? the noises he produces makes you want to rut against the bed, the couch, his leg, wherever you can.

P = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

if he’s bottoming, he does like it when you go fast, especially if he’s pent up (and maybe has been edged for a while too). but if he’s on top, then he loves to go slow. although most of the time, he’ll go whatever pace you want him to go.

Q = quickies (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

he doesn’t like quickies, especially early in your shared sexual life. he does prefer to take his time and not have any interruptions and the like, but quickies are bound to happen with how many cases there are.

R = risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

this is a man of science we are talking about; of course he’s game to experiment in the bedroom. with his limited experience (especially with women), he doesn’t know exactly what he likes and doesn’t like. but as for risks, almost never. the closest he’ll probably get to fucking in public is in a motel/hotel. he doesn’t want to get caught in such a compromising position.

S = sexts (yes? no? pictures?)

he doesn’t really understand why people would sext when they could just A. say it to their partner directly or B. just call and listen to their voice. he understands why people send nudes even less; he doesn’t want to take pictures of himself in that way, or even risk sending them. the technophobia is real with this man.

T = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

doesn’t own any, but he isn’t vehemently opposed to using them (either on you or him) if you own some.

U = unfair (how much they like to tease)

spencer doesn’t really like to tease so much as he likes to be teased. it gets him all riled up, especially if you tease him in public. as long as the teasing is masked well, he’s all for it.

V = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

the way this man moans is symphonic, it’s mind boggling. he is loud, his noises can reverberate through the room. he doesn’t just moan, he’s got a whole arsenal of sounds; whimpers, whines, cries, etc.

W = wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

the first time he got hard in front of you was a complete accident and he was so embarrassed, rapidly spitting out apologies and slight self-deprecating comments. you tried to calm him down - which sort of worked, thankfully - and asked if he wanted help with it. the event didn’t escalate into full-on sex, but hands were enough for him and you both.

X = x-ray (dick size)

like him, his cock isn’t particularly girthy, but it’s long, definitely above average. in fact, it’s long enough that you could still feel the aftershocks of it even when it’s been a day.

Y = yearning (how high is their sex drive? how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last...)

the man is so touch-starved that at this point, any form of intimacy would be near too much for him. so, his sex drive would probably be high, but he would still only be able to go maybe one or two rounds. later in your relationship, he might be able to go longer than that.

Z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

spencer is the type of guy to feel sleepy after sex, even if he cane only once. the activity takes a lot out of him, but he would still prioritize you first before himself. after he does his whole aftercare routine, he’s out like a light. this could be different if he has a migraine, in which case he’ll probably be up for a couple more hours (yay insomnia).

#✩ ⊹˖ ꒰ spencer ꒱ ୨🎧୧ #★ sei’s lexicons #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds headcanons #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid smut #dr. spencer reid #mgg #matthew gray gubler

1K notes · View notes

luveline · 6 months

Note

hiiii not sure if your requests are open but if they aren’t just ignore this😭

imagine getting into an argument with james, sirius, and remus because you brought a stray kitten or something home and you really don’t have the room for a kitten

“but look at him🥺”

“no”

“🥺”

“… no” *less convincingly*

You hold the kitten in your hand. Remus strokes her head, her little damp ears. “It's not about that, Remus, I just couldn't leave her there, the box was falling apart and… I thought that only happened in movies.”

Sirius leans forward on his knees to give the kitten a stroke of his own. “She's lovely,” he murmurs, scratching under her chin and grinning when she moves into it for more. “It's too bad the flat's so small. Otherwise we could keep her.”

She's tortoise shell with a white half circle around her mouth, eyes squinted closed as she shivers. You've wrapped her in a tea towel like a blanket. She is, without a doubt, that cutest and saddest creature you've ever seen. “Where is she supposed to go, Siri?” you ask gently.

“People love cats.” Sirius puts his hand on Remus' thigh casually, giving it a loving squeeze as he settles in. “Everybody wants a kitten.”

But not everyone will be nice to a kitten. She feels like your responsibility now; how can you leave her? She's burrowed into you from the moment you picked her up, shushing and murmuring, your knees sodden in the puddle of rainwater beneath you both.

“We have to keep her, please,” you say.

There's a mutual surprise. “Dove, we can't,” Remus says. “The bathroom barely fits the toilet, shower, and sink, we'd never be able to have a litter box.”

“It wouldn't be fair,” Sirius agrees, “on us or the kitten, she'd have no room once she turns into a cat.”

You bring the kitten close to your chest and show them her helpless face. “But look at her,” you say softly, widening your eyes gently, your brows bunched together in the beginnings of heartbreak.

“No,” Remus says, shaking his head sympathetically.

You frown at him and Sirius in turn, your bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly.

“No,” he says again, sounding unsure.

Sirius rubs his leg. “Stay strong, my love.”

“There's just not enough room.”

You fear you may be losing this battle, and if they really don't want a cat, maybe you shouldn't force them. But then your trump card comes out of the bathroom with a towel around his neck, shirtless, grey joggers low on his hips, and you know you still have a chance.

“Wow, Jamie,” you say, not having to act very much to give your voice a hoarse rasp, “you might need to shower again.”

His smile is magnetic. “Yeah?” he asks, immediately delighted by such a brazen comment. “How's the little sweetheart? Reckon we can leave her alone?”

“She's cold still,” you say.

James visibly melts at your sad tone, while Remus rolls his eyes. “She's just trying to get you on her side, James. I've said we can't keep the cat and she's–”

“Taking advantage of her feminine wiles?” Sirius suggests.

“Cheating,” Remus finishes.

James leans over the back of the sofa between your head and Remus to kiss behind your ear, a brief press of the lips. “Why should I care? Doesn't she deserve her own way?”

“It's not as though I'm lying,” you say guiltily.

James laughs and kisses your jaw. You bring your shoulder up to your chin and flush with heat at such a simple thing, trying your hardest not to jostle the kitten in your hand as he wraps an arm around your front, resting his face against yours. The wet curls of his hair are cold on your skin, and the straight line of his jaw digs in. “I know,” he says.

“Catch on, Jamie,” Remus says.

“Shan't, won't.” Another kiss to your cheek.

“Please, Remus, I promise if you don't want her then I won't make you, but if it's about room, of course there's enough. The four of us manage to squeeze in, don't we?” You lean into James’ embrace, eyes melty-soft. You're practically batting your eyelashes at him.

Sirius flops into Remus’ lap with a resigned sigh. “If you don't say yes, I will anyway. Look at her.”

You don't know if he means the kitten or you, but you choose to believe it's you he's complimenting, and you react accordingly, your little smile pushing Remus completely over the edge.

He sighs. “Yes, alright. Fine.”

You pass James the little warm parcel of fur and use your freshly emptied hands to grab Remus by both arms. “Thank you! Aw, thank you, Remus. Sirius. I'll be so absolutely clean and if it does seem too small I promise, I won't make anyone suffer.”

“I never thought you would,” he says. “If you really want to keep her, I can't stop you. I'm your boyfriend, not a prison warden.”

“Well, we share a home–”

“I know,” he says warmly, “it's alright. Keep your kitten, dove. Looks like you've found her for a reason.”

You laugh happily and gather him up for a hug. “Oh, I love you.”

“What shall we name her?” Sirius asks around you.

“I'm not fussed. What do you like?” James asks.

Sirius meets your eyes as you and Remus pull apart. “You always get your way, hmm? Why don't you name her?”

Oh, you could hug him to death too. He looks comfortable where he is, his face on Remus thigh, hair fanned out over his joggers, and you don't want to disturb him (he's not quite as tactile as the others), so you stroke a curl from his cheek and offer him a cheeky smile. “Don't you have any ideas?” you ask.

“About you, or the cat?”

You laugh at his teasing. “Which one do you think?”

Remus nudges you in the ribs. “Don't start. If we're keeping your cat, we need to go out, don't we? You'll have to go get dressed again.”

You give them all a glowing smile and clamber off of the sofa to find your shoes.

2K notes · View notes

urhoneycombwitch · 9 days

Text

foreword: have u ever had a buddy so good you jack off with him <3 roommate!Eddie x reader fic for ya.

cw: drug mention, R wears a bra, has breasts (implied to be large enough to “spill”) + V, no pronouns used only petnames, nipple play, R is queer (talks about Molly Ringwald in a sexual nature <3), praise kink, mutual masturbation, but as friends, we’re all normal here okay, we Do Not talk about our hidden feelings in this one soz

wc: 2.3k

___

An unfortunate shift of the pillows supporting your body pulls you from the depths of sleep, consciousness surfacing, breaching with a soft huffy groan.

Waking up on a normal day is hard enough. Waking from a good dream, one where someone’s head was between your legs and everything was swelling lush with heat? Now that’s torture.

You burrow the cold side of your face under the covers, eyes still screwed shut in defiance of being awoken before the dream could pay off. There’s a heartbeat pounding near the apex of your thighs; with one leg stretched out and the other draped around the curve of your body pillow, your hips roll forward automatically, seeking friction.

The soaked front of your underwear drags against the pillow’s seam, catching your clit on the next glide of your hips. Another soft moan, breath fanning from your parted lips. If you can stay in this grey area of sleep and waking, maybe the horniness will swallow your mind back to the dream…

When someone’s hand brushes your bare shoulder, your movements freeze. Goosebumps prickling in the palm-owner’s wake, you blink against the morning light pouring in through your bedroom window and try to orient yourself.

Your head is nestled in the curve of someone’s neck, left arm tucked secure around their chest. Leg hitched over their waist, cotton boxers band digging at the plush of your thigh- something else solid and warm trapped against their stomach.

A snuffle from your human body pillow, and the waking world hits you sideways, all at once- Eddie. You’d fallen asleep with Eddie last night, after helping him play-test a new hybrid strain and dancing to records all evening, until you both collapsed in a heap of giggles. In your bed.

Which means that you’ve been humping Eddie’s leg in your sleep. And the thick length trapped under your thigh belongs to him, too.

Before you can even fully process or think up an escape plan holding the least amount of embarrassment for you both, Eddie’s stretching the arm that isn’t cupping your shoulder up and out with a long yawn.

His hips shift, pressing himself into your leg unintentionally, and you can feel the moan that rumbles through his body- at your ear, vibrating under your hand on his bare chest. Eddie mumbles something incoherent and sleep-addled, pulling you in closer, nosing at the crown of your head.

“Uh-” your voice comes out half-squeak, half-croak, not fully pushing off Eddie but keeping your frame tight enough to roll away at a moment’s notice. “H-hey.”

Eddie’s palm smooths down the plane of your upper back, stopping at the wide band of your bra. He makes another noise, this time a bit less sleepy- and then he, too, freezes, all those points of contact along the length of your own body stiffening, muscles tensed with realization.

“Oh, fuck. Shit.”

Eddie’s voice is like rocks on pavement, three shades of gravelly, really not helping your whole ‘wet as a river’ situation, one that he can probably feel leaking onto his bare leg at this point. He doesn’t immediately roll away, though; he remains in that freeze-mode, tense and poised, holding you against the span of his side still.

Well. As frozen as one can be with a throbbing case of morning wood.

“I guess we… fell asleep,” you say, carefully, adopting the same cat-like stillness, the pause before a big leap. “Sorry-”

“You’re sorry? I’m sorry. Jesus.” Eddie uses the hand that’s not cradling your shoulder to scrub down his face. This close, nestled into his neck, you can feel his loose hair tickling your cheek, the light scratch of his day-old stubble against your forehead when he speaks. “I’m gonna… go take care of this. And then maybe. Breakfast? Christ. Can’t think. All my blood’s elsewhere right now.”

You breathe a chuckle. His arm is still wrapped around you.

“Yeah. Okay. Or you could just- take care of it. Here, I mean. With me.”

Eddie’s breath stops, actually stops, then stutters back into steady rhythm under your hand. “...yeah?”

He sounds unsure but curious, excitement bleeding into the edges of that one word as your thumb sweeps across the spot where his ribcage meets. “Yeah. Be doing me a favor, too- I was kind of in the middle of a… a good dream. Prob’ly me that woke you up, anyways.”

Eddie’s hand drops from your shoulder, slithers back to his own space, disrupting your head rest briefly- until you realize he’s doing it to make enough room for you both to stretch out flat (on your mattress that was barely designed for one full-grown person).

“A good dream,” Eddie parrots, as you both re-situate under the thin cover of your floral-patterned top sheet. Shoulder to shoulder, skimming the heat from each other’s bare skin as you stare resolutely at the ceiling, there’s a frizzy mass of black hair in your periphery. A hint of a smile in Eddie’s voice as he asks, “What were you dreamin’ about?”

You can feel the rippling shift of his bicep as his arm moves, hand sliding unseen beneath the sheets- a sharp inhale as his hand finds purchase over the bulge in his boxers.

In response, your own hand follows the contoured path to the spot below your navel, toying with the band of your panties before slipping underneath. Cupping yourself, feeling the heated slick coat your fingers before dragging it back up to rest your middle against the beating pulse of your clit- “Ah- um. Was dreamin’ about. Uh. Molly Ringwald.”

A few days from your latest John Hughes marathon, it’s the first feasible famous person that comes to mind. Luckily, Eddie just laughs, in a stilted gasp when his fist finds his aching cock- “Oh, fuck- yeah? Redheads do it for you these days?”

“Uh huh.” Maybe if you keep the focus on someone else, you’ll both be able to come out of this event unscathed. Walk away with your hands clean- er. Well. Nope.

A better analogy is gonna have to wait, because your abdomen’s tightening with each pass of your wet finger over your clit, pleasure licking and sparking, the usual slow-build to orgasm forming with shocking rapidity.

“What was she doing?” Eddie, sounding strained and strung-out already (really makes you wonder how long you’d actually been using each other, in sleep, grinding and working the other person up), hand moving in long strokes- “In your dream, I mean. Licking you out? Did she use fingers?”

It’s not like you haven’t heard Eddie’s dirty talk before- in fact, you helped cultivate it, years ago when he was nervous for a third date and wanted some advice. You’ve coached him on sex techniques, he’s given his own expertise, you’ve both appraised the other's nudes, for christ’s sake- this is just a natural extension of your friendship. Your closeness.

Eddie’s feeling awfully close, now, his arm bumping against yours with each pass of his fist over his dick, your leg periodically grazing the downy hair of his shin as your hips jolt upwards, into the electricity stemming from the pad of your finger.

Choking on your words around a bright surge of pleasure- “Y- yeah. Her mouth. Fingers. All of it.”

“Fuck.” Eddie’s form lurches, doing a half-crunch forwards- risking a glance, you catch a glimpse of the sweat beading at his temples, the dark slant of his brow in concentration, jaw working through the grit of his teeth- “Why don’t you use some fingers, then.”

Like he’s got you under some sort of command spell (because you’re not touching the alternatives with a ten-foot pole), you obey, middle and ring fingers curling into the tight channel of your cunt. There’s a spot you hit on your front wall, gummy and responsive, muscles reacting on instinct by contracting and spasming around your fingers.

You’re close already, panting, head tipped back against the bottom sheet, neck bared, eyes squeezing shut at the wave of pleasure that begins to pulse insistently. “I’m- fuck, Eddie. Keep talking, please-”

“So good,” Eddie says, almost funny in how quick he is to interrupt your pleading. “So good for me. Sound so wet, too, bet you’re soaking…”

You are, in fact, rivulets of slick joining into one just under the globes of your ass, cooling and sticky, a bit uncomfortable but since it’s laundry day and you feel this good you can’t really bring yourself to care.

A half-gasp whimper as you writhe your pelvis up, again, chasing that edge, tantalizingly close, the wet noises from your weeping cunt and plunging fingers spurring Eddie on.

“That’s it, baby.” He’s encouraging even in his own heady fog of pleasure (must’ve had a good sex-talk coach), voice low and rough at your ear as he drops his chin to get closer. “Tell me what you need, hm? Lemme get you there.”

“Need you- you, to…” Frustrated by your lack of breath, in lieu of communicating with words you slide your fingers from yourself, seeking Eddie’s hand before you can overthink the action. You leave a trail of slick against his hip bone, and Eddie releases himself to give you his hand- moaning, cock twitching, as you coat your own heated wetness over his dry palm.

This time, when you both get your hands back on yourselves, it’s with a tandem whine, Eddie’s ending with a hiss through teeth- “Fuck. Fuck, yes. So wet. So good.”

“Yeah?” Like you never left, your pussy molds easily to the shape of your three fingers again. Your other hand leaves your side to paw at your clothed breast, nipples peaking through the lace. “I gotta- I’m gonna take my bra off. Please.”

You don’t actually wait for permission, but Eddie gives it anyways as you slide the cups down, babbling encouragement- “Shit, sweetheart, yeah. Whatever you gotta do. So good for me, tellin’ me what you need. Good job.”

One day, you’re gonna regret telling Eddie you get off on praise, but not today; with one nipple pinched firmly between thumb and forefinger, your other breast spills to the side, resting against Eddie’s upper arm.

He groans, from his toes, fist slipping over his cock with ease thanks to your contribution. The sounds filling your small room are obscene, sex-dipped moans and glossy wet hand movements all reaching a crescendo as both your hips jerk up at the same time.

Keeping the same pace against your clit as Eddie’s keeping on his dick, the spark of pleasure has turned into a roar that swims up to your ears, a white-out of an orgasm fast approaching each time the heel of your palm slams into your clit.

“Eddie- jesus, Eddie- Eddie Eddie Eddie-”

You’d feel sheepish about how desperate you sound if Eddie wasn’t matching your energy two-fold. His lanky frame thrashes when your speech devolves into a repetition of his name, keening as his fist staves off tipping over the edge with a tight ring at the base of his cock- “That’s it, baby, y’can do it, angel. Come on. Come with me. Please, please-”

With a final cruel twist to your breast, you come undone, orgasm spooling heat throughout your whole system, Eddie’s name unraveling in a long cry. Eddie follows you, fucking up into his fist, ropes of cum shooting to the top of the sheets tent he’d made, hunching against the spasms crawling up his abdomen.

You ride the last of your orgasm out on the stretch of three fingers, releasing your nipple when the pressure turns to a twinge of pain. Under the covers, your bare chest heaves around the stretched elastic band of your shoved-down bra; with shaky, uncoordinated hands, you reach behind and beneath yourself to undo the hooks, flinging the offending clothing in the general direction of your hamper.

Eddie chuckles, breathless, bellows of his ribs nudging your forearm as he sinks back into his (your) pillow. “Christ. Good thing it’s laundry day.”

There’s no room for shame, no ounce of you that wants to dwell on what this could mean, right now- although there’ll be plenty of time for that later. As it stands, you’re both swathed in a quiet, post-sex bliss, neither wanting to disturb the peace.

In a dreamy haze, you take note of little things- the drag of Eddie’s pinky against the back of your hand. The glint of his rings stored in a neat line atop your nearby dresser. A block of mid-morning sunshine from the window cast over the bed, prickling at your legs with warmth.

After a few minutes of this, Eddie sits up, mumbling apologies when you snatch the sheets to keep yourself covered. “You want first shower?”

He looks at you over his shoulder, down the lovely arc of his nose, brown eyes tender and staying on you for a beat too long. Squirming under his gaze, you find anywhere else to look (other than the pale slope of his back, smattered and dotted with freckles), shaking your head. “Nope. All yours.”

You flick your interest back to the ceiling as Eddie pulls up his boxers, grimacing at the mess he’s made of your sheets; before leaving, he bends to scoop up your tossed bra, snapping his own underwear to emphasize- “I’ll start this load before showering, then I’ll come back for your bedding.”

At your nod, Eddie leaves to clank around in the laundry closet; then there’s a rusty squeak of the shower handle, a subsequent rush of water, and Eddie’s pleasant husky humming floats down the hall through the open doors.

You roll onto your front with a contented sigh, burying your nose in the pillow Eddie was just lying on- it smells like him, now, smoky and spicy and familiar.

You spend the rest of his shower time coming up with a good excuse to save this pillowcase from being washed.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #roommate!Eddie #roommate!Eddie munson

1K notes · View notes

hazbn-oneshots · 3 months

Text

Bathtime Headcanons

Just a few headcanons for sharing a bubble bath with the main characters. Enjoy!

Charlie:

oddly enough Charlie doesn’t partake in full baths as much as she favors showers.

She’s busy dealing with the hotel and along with ruling as the Princess of Hell so she much prefers a quick warm spray.

On the occasion, however, she finds herself tired enough that you might just be able to convince her to indulge with you.

You make a point of dredging up any kind of bubble bath, bath bomb, lotion, anything you can find to ensure that you can provide the best bubble bath possible.

Music plays softly over a small speaker, but it’s drowned out the hushed whispers of words of love as you meticulously wash and condition her hair.

Conditioning is your favorite step. Charlie didn’t need it often as her hair somehow stayed so silky, so every now and then when you got to run a soft brush through her hair, twisting it gently to pin atop her head.

She tries to wash you in return but you always push her hand away, insisting on pampering her after a hard day.

Usually ends with you drying her off and carrying her to bed when she inevitably passes out.

Vaggie:

Vaggie loves baths but she’s hard pressed to admit it. Nothing feels better on sore muscles than a nice soak, ideally with lavender. She loves lavender.

The two of you had been dating for about 6 months before she even entertained the idea of going to you with such a request.

She was too embarrassed to ask.

-in the end, how she broaches the subject is by surprising you one night when you return home. A few candles lined the edge of the bathtub that was filled nearly to the brim with bubbles.

”I just thought it would be nice, you’ve been gone all day” And you know better to react calmly should you risk spooking the flustered angel with the scarlet red face.

She’s the one that drags it out in the end. She’d wrap her arms just a little tighter around your waist and mutter about how the water would stay warm for just a little longer.

Vaggie gives sweet towel hugs.

Alastor:

Listen, Alastor takes pride in his hygiene. He takes the utmost care to keep himself and his dress in immaculate condition.

He’ll invest in facial creams, hair creams, body creams, oils, lotions, you name it and he’s used it.

But baths? No. Absolutely not.

You’ve only attempted to convince Alastor to take a bath with you and neither occasion ended particularly well. The radio demon wouldn’t speak to you for a week after the first failed attempt and had all but removed himself from your life with the second so you couldn’t say you were in any hurry for a third.

However, the two of you have come to a happy compromise. Whenever you found yourself in the mood to draw a bath you would sometimes find Alastor pulling a chair up next to the tub with a book tucked under his arm. So would begin a lovely tradition between the both of you.

More than once you’ve found yourself dozing to the soft static of the Alastor’s voice, and in response the demon would lightly tap his cane against the edge of the tub to rouse you.

Don’t fall asleep though, three strikes and he’ll leave you in the tub. No he doesn’t.

Husk:

Not. A. Fan. Considering his entire being consists of fur and feathers, Husk can and will do everything within his power to avoid bathing if he can. Look, it’s just not his idea of a fun night to sit down with a hairdryer and attempt to wring himself out as best he can.

Inevitably he’d miss a spot and end up with stale wet cat smell and no one likes that, especially not our resident grump.

He won’t make a fuss if you want to bathe with him though. What he will do is laugh while patting your shoulder. “I’ll wait for ya in the room”

The more comfortable he gets, however, you’ll start to see that eventually Husk begins to find reasons just to ‘wander’ into the bathroom with you. He misses you, you know it, but it’s still sweet to see him making the excuse of looking for his lucky pair of boxers.

”The water’s always warm darlin”

You better get the blow dryer ready, the only way you can convince him is if you’ll deal with it. You don’t mind though, the purrs are worth it

Angel Dust:

You and Angel take turns picking which bath bombs and bubble baths that you’ll throw into whichever potion you’ll be brewing up tonight.

Bathtime with Angel was always a favorite for you, you couldn’t think of anything better than getting to curl up with your cuddle bug in your arms. Although things never really stay that way for long.

It’s hard not to tease while washing each other. A slip of the hand here, just a little rough touch of loofah there, just a sweet little taste of what could be but the restraint comes easy in the relaxed atmosphere. Just in times like these Angel will be patient enough to wait until you can actually make it to the bed.

Angel won’t let you wash his hair. You don’t know why he’s so particular about it but if you interrupt his routine of products then his entire night is ruined so you choose the peaceful route and leave the man be. That doesn’t mean he won’t wash your hair for you if you ask though, those four hands of his do wonders at massaging the scalp.

Angel will 10/10 let you towel dry him every single time and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t use it as an opportunity to make a show at bending this way and that, making sure to get every inch of him.

He looks like a fluffy mess afterwards but hey, he’s your fluffy mess.

Requests open!!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor x reader #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel headcanon #husk headcanons #husk x reader #angel dust headcanons #angel dust x reader #vaggie x reader

992 notes · View notes

bloodandoranges · 8 months

Text

“…I would have killed you.”

Astarion x Reader (tav is gender neutral / little bit of angst / Astarion kills some creeps / comfort sorta?)

CW: VERY VAGUE mentions of (but avoided) unwanted advances (not by Astarion or Tav; but directed towards Tav.)

if anyone likes this concept I may do another chapter?

If Astarion had a tail? They were sure it’d be lashing about right now like a furious cat. He urged them into the room, immediately softening when they were alone, cool hands moving to cup their face. He winced at the blood.

“What the hells were you thinking, rushing off alone like that!?” He barked, the fear in his eyes betraying the fury in his voice…he looked as if he may cry. “I was just going to check out a quick lead, I figured I could do that alone…” Tav sighed, shaking their head as they peered up at him. “I planned to just be in and out.”

They’d settled in at the Elfsong Tavern for the night, desperate to have a bed for once. Their little party was happy to have a moment to relax and drink, but Tav had noticed a sewer grate when they’d come upon the tavern, and intended to expend a moment of their time to atleast check it out.

Of course, Baldurs Gate at night was a dangerous place. Outside of a tavern? Even worse. A few drunk humans had tried to flirt, and got a more than a little angry when denied. Cue Astarion; rushing in from the shadows and tearing out the throats of the unlucky ones without a second thought.

He’d dragged Tav away from the gruesome scene, softly hissing fury at them for being so foolish.

And that’s where they were now, nestled in the safety of their room, both of them covered in blood. Tav gave a shudder, running a hand through their hair. Astarion watched them with piercing eyes, fury evident in the way his eyebrows were furrowed.

“…I’ll run us a bath.” He spoke, saying nothing more as he stood and slinked away. The second he was out of their sight? He let himself crumbled a little, hand settled over his mouth as he worked to process what had happened. Those men could’ve hurt Tav. They could’ve-… He used to be the one who would prowl in the night, taking innocent victims love and then their lives. It made him feel sick to his very core.

He’d thought nothing of it at the time; why would he? He’d not had a choice. He’d never had a choice. And yet, he’d grown complicit. It was hard not to. He couldn’t help it, and besides, why should he care for anyone else, when no one had tried to save him? Of course, Tav had come along and flipped his world upside down, showed him he could grow…but growing hurt.

Tav sat stock still on their bed, staring up at the ceiling. They hated being scolded like a child, and yet they knew Astarion was just /scared/. Just like he was when Araj offered them that potion. Just like he was every time they’d been downed in battle; always the first at their side. Always the first to bark and berate them, then tenderly tend their wounds. He had no idea how to even begin to process those feelings…and so he lashed out.

Of course, that didn’t necessarily make it okay…just understandable. Something they’d work through together. They’d been working through.

They were so lost in thought they almost didn’t hear Astarion call out, stumbling to their feet and over to the tub settled behind an old partition. He was already settled inside, gazing out the window next to the tub.

He looked utterly stunning in the moonlight, it almost shone on his wet, porcelain skin. Water dripped from his face - now clean of all the blood. He finally tilted his head to gaze at them, and though his expression was stoic? There was a pain in his eyes. Slowly, Tav peeled away their clothes, eager to rid themself of the blood and dirt from the past few days.

Astarion’s gaze didn’t leave them, always fond and adoring. His arms wound tight around their waist as they slipped into the tub, pulling their soft body against his. Settling his face against their shoulder, he inhaled their scent. Blood, flesh, warmth. Alive.

“I am sorry, you know,” he whispered against their skin, lips trailing over it. “For…ugh, /overreacting/. I was just— I was worried, okay? I saw how those men were eyeing you off, like you were a piece of meat, a prize to be won, and it— …it made me think… of myself. How I used to be.” Though it was frantic? His voice was hardly above a whisper, so meek compared to his usual manner.

“That— you had no choice,” Tav said quickly, whipping around with lighting speed so they could gaze at him. Astarion stared at them, piercing red eyes full of sadness, eyebrows furrowed. “I know. I just—…” he shook his head, resting his forehead against Tavs, gazing into their eyes.

It was quiet for a moment, only the sound of the sloshing water as the pair adjusted.

“I would have killed you.” He breathed, a tense silence filling the room at his words.

He’d spoken them before, at Cazadors palace, just before the fateful reunion that rendered the vampire’s plans obsolete, that freed the spawn that Astarion had unknowingly created.

A shaky breath was the first noise to escape the silence, as Tav wound themself around Astarion, as best as they could. He pressed his face into their shoulder, breathing them in, focusing on the sound of their soft heartbeat. Fingers tangled into white curls, holding him close as the two of them quietly ached.

“You don’t ever have to be that again.” Tav whispered, soon pulling away from the embrace to cup his face in their hands, and he gazed at them like a sad puppy as he melted into their loving embrace.

“I know,” Astarion responded, hands gently clasping their wrists, kissing over their palms… he hoped that one day? He could believe that.

#baldurs gate tav #bg3 #fic #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #Astarion angst #astarion x tav #fanfic #bg3 fic #bg3 astarion

1K notes · View notes

traveler-at-heart · 3 months

Text

Cat's out of the (super) bag

Summary: Natasha doesn't like going on missions with you. Learning the truth might make her change her mind.

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Big thanks to @soggy-wet-cat for hearing this idea before I wrote it :)

Fury was going soft.

That was the only way to explain your presence on most of Natasha’s missions.

Rogers, she gets. He’s a super soldier and as capable as Natasha is, it doesn’t hurt to have an enhanced individual around.

But you.

Always slow, always too relaxed for Natasha’s liking. Insisting you could do more, but last week you weren’t even able to pick a lock.

Not to mention how much you avoid hand to hand combat. Natasha suspects it’s because your skill level is very low.

“She’d do better out of the field” Natasha complains for the tenth time. Fury smirks. “This isn’t funny. I’m risking my neck to protect her and she’s not even worried about getting better. I’m not doing missions with her anymore”

“Now, hold on” Fury protests. “That’s not for you to decide. And I thought you trusted me”

“It’s her I can’t trust”

“Too damn bad. You have a mission. No Rogers this time. And I better hear it went well, Romanoff”

Natasha rolls her eyes and leaves his office.

It will only go well if she convinces you to sit and wait at the jet.

—

“What did you do to piss off Romanoff?”

“Morning to you too, Nick” you smile, placing a cup of coffee in front of him. “I don’t know. It’s pretty obvious she doesn’t like me”

“I know that. Have you done anything to upset her?”

“I barely speak to her and when I do she doesn’t answer” you shrug your shoulders, going back to every interaction you’ve had with the redhead. Her intense glare comes back to haunt you. “Do you think she knows?”

“You tell me. Did you screw up?”

“I keep a low profile. Like you asked me to” you nod, knowing how important this is for him.

“Better stay that way. You’re both leaving for a mission tomorrow” the man hands you a folder and you skim it. “Keep your head down and don’t make her angrier”

“Is that even possible?”

“You don’t wanna know”

—

It’s a mess from the start. You try to stay away from Natasha, but every time your attempts go in the worst way possible. Like when she’s walking down the jet, and you move aside so she has space. Except you end up pushing a few buttons on the console and Natasha has to come back and straighten the ship.

“Stay still” she mutters, glaring. You nod and sit on your hands, more concerned with the woman’s temper than about the mission.

“Wait here” is all she says after landing the jet.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a very simple mission” Natasha says, without looking at you, focused on adjusting her widow bites. “So, if you really want to help, stay out of my way”

“That’s not the plan. I’m supposed to watch the south entrance”

“They’ll never even noticed I inflitrated the building”

“You’re not my boss. Fury is. And if he wants me to stand outside and watch the south entrance, then that is exacly what I’ll do, Natasha”

The redhead finally turns back to look at you, surprised. This is the first time she’s seen you upset. You’re walking past her, not bothering to look her way… have you always been this tall? It always seems like you’re trying to look small.

“Hey” Natasha tries to make you turn, grabbing your arm. She’s surprised by how strong you are. “You better not screw up. Or I’ll make sure you’re on desk duty for the rest of your career, Y/L/N”

“Oh, now that’s funny. I’ve been here far longer than you” you lean forward, whispering. Natasha tries to understand what you mean, her eyes scanning your features for a sign. Aware of how close you are to her, you take a step back and jump out the door, ignoring the ladder.

Ridiculous, to think that you (you!) are an incompetent agent.

Maybe Fury was wrong for asking you to do this.

You’re kicking the ground, huffing every few minutes, still fuming at Natasha’s words. All this time, you thought she didn’t like you and though it sucked, you could live with that. But saying you were bad at your job when it was the exact opposite makes you see red.

“Y/N?” Natasha says over the comms.

“Here” you answer.

“A little help”

Those three words make your stomach drop. Natasha asking for your help?

This must be life or death kind of bad.

“Tell me where you are” you ask, breaking into the building.

“Intelligence room. Surrounded by at least 20 guards”

“Use the vents to go out and grab one of their vehicles. I’ll distract them”

“You’re gonna take down 20 people all on your own?”

“Just do as I say, Romanoff”

It feels good to finally use all your strenght. You practically rip open a door that sets off an alarm, and then you throw a couple of grenades around.

Now, all eyes are on you.

Sure enough, it takes them a few minutes to come find you, but you’re ready to shoot at the first guards, and when the second wave has gone through their ammo, you prepare for hand to hand combat.

“I’m out but there are two individuals after me. Towards the east, away from the jet”

“Got it. Gentleman” you turn to the man. “Change of plans. Let me go or die. Whichever is fine by me”

They laugh, until you send one of them flying across the room, his neck snapping.

“Who’s next, ladies?”

—

How could this mission have gone so wrong? Now Natasha is navigating the snowy road on a motorcycle, being chased by two of the guards and dodging their bullets.

The cold air is stabbing her hands and face but she has to keep going. She is too far away to communicate with you, but hoped you had the good sense of going back to the jet.

She’d find a way to survive.

Or maybe not, as she notices a third motorcycle joining the chase.

Through the rearview mirror, she sees the new person approaching one of the guards. A fight ensues and an exchange of shots. Next thing Natasha saw was the motorcycles colliding.

“Y/N?” she tries the comms, hoping you aren’t stupid enough to be knocking down people. Whoever those two were, the force of the hit was enough to kill them.

And yet, one of them begins to run after Natasha and the man still chasing her. The figure is fast approaching, which is ridiculous, considering Natasha was going 150 miles per hour.

The brute is clearly scared, as his movements become more erratic, trying to get rid of Natasha and the mysterious figure at the same time. He shoots behind him and then at Natasha, getting to one of the tires in her bike.

She tries to keep the handle steady, but can’t turn on the curve ahead of her. Natasha is sent flying directly to a river, the cold water making her momentarily paralized. The currents confused her, and she couldn’t tell up from down. She swam and swam, until her arms were too tired.

She began to drift, and the last thing she saw was a shadow hovering above her.

—

“Natasha? Nat?” you plead, doing CPR as gently as you can. You don’t want to add cracked ribs to her list of injuries.

Finally, after what felt like hours but were only seconds, Natasha lunges forward, coughing and throwing up water. You hold her head, helping her until she can breathe again.

“I’m freezing” Natasha complains, looking around. “Did we lose them? How did you…” she then turns to you and widens her eyes. “You’re bleeding”

“Yeah, he shot me. It’ll stop in a second. And yes, we lost them. Though I’m sure HYDRA is sending more people to track us down. Come on” you stand up, offering your hand. Natasha takes it and is once again surpised by how strong you are.

Your body is also warmer than hers, even if you dived to rescue her. On pure instinct, Natasha comes closer, practically melting against your body heat.

“You’re hiding something” she states and you chuckle.

“Now’s not the time. Come on, I’ll carry you. There must be a safe house close to the river”

Natasha climbs to your back, and as if she weights nothing, you walk down the river, trusting she’ll keep an eye for any place to hide.

Sure enough, after ten minutes of walking, the redhead gets your attention and points at the right. There’s a small cottage hiding between some trees.

“Here” you say as you kick open the door, not bothering to find a key. You set Natasha down and go around the place, looking for blankets and anything that will make her warm.

“Did it stop bleeding?” she asks, looking at your abdomen. You nod, placing a blanket over her shoulder and checking for other injuries. “Are you a super soldier?”

You smile, thinking that Fury will be up in arms. But technically, you didn’t tell Natasha. She figured it out.

“Yes”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Who else knows?” Natasha says, pulling the blanket closer, as if it will help her cover from you as well. It’s clear she doesn’t trust you right now.

“Fury asked me to keep a low profile. He’s the only one that knows. I think he’s concerned about the integrity of SHIELD. You know him, keeping an ace up his sleeve”

“How long have you known him for?”

“Thirty years, give or take. My existence is top secret, and I spent some time away from the job. My father died, and he was the last person that I knew before everything, so… it was hard, I guess”

“I’m sorry”

“Me too. I didn’t like lying to you or pretending to be something I’m not”

Natasha kicks herself for not noticing sooner. It’s so glaringly obvious now that she has to roll her eyes at herself.

Your build, the fact that you never seem to be tired or catching your breath. Hell, the fact you never train with anyone else.

Natasha made an assumption and ran with it, instead of trying to see past it.

“Hey, you ok?” you ask, craddling her head in your hands. “Did you hit your head? Feel dizzy?”

“I’m just cold”

“We can’t start a fire” you regret, looking out. “Here” you pull her closer, your arms going around her shoulders. She tries to protest, but whatever she was about to say dies in her throat as soon as she feels how warm you are.

“This suit is all wet” she says, pulling away and taking it off. “Don’t look or I’ll kill you”

“Uh… what is going on?” your eyes dart to the ceiling, blushing. Then, you feel Natasha’s cold skin against you. “Jesus, Nat. You’re freezing”

You bury the both of you in more blankets, and feel her melting against your side. On instinct, your arms go around her waist and bring her closer, to which she responds by burying her face on the crook of your neck.

“So I can’t look but I can touch, huh?”

“Glad we understand each other”

—

“So…”

“So” Natasha says, landing the jet back home.

“Can we be friends? Friendly, at least?”

“No” she stands up, walking towards you. “Friends don’t look at each other the way you’ve been looking at me for the entire ride home”

“Can you blame me?” your eyes drift to her cleavage, remembering how she was practically naked and clinging to you as if her life depended on it.

“Wine and dine me, Y/L/N. And we’ll take it from there”

“Yes, Ma’am”

“Am I interrupting?” Fury shouts from the hangar.

“Yes” you say, but Natasha leaves, glaring at Fury on her way out.

“I’ve known you for thirty years and you still can’t keep it together around a pretty lady. And now I’m in trouble too” Fury says, clearly displeased.

“Hey, at least you don’t have that problem with Rogers, huh?”

“For now, Y/L/N. There’s always some trouble waiting around the courner”

You laugh and clap his back, leaving the jet. His plan may have failed, but you’re certainly not complaining.

Not when you have a hot date waiting for you.

#Natasha Romanoff x Reader #Natasha Romanoff x Y/N #Natasha Romanoff x You

803 notes · View notes